


How Far We've Come

by Arwriter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Racism, Connor whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hank Anderson, Protective Markus (Detroit: Become Human), hurt Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: The revolution has passed, but the fight is far from over. With androids going missing at an alarming rate, the new case shows Connor just how far humans are willing to go when fueled by hate, and how far some will go to show compassion for those who don't deserve it.





	How Far We've Come

The night was cold, frigid winds sending stray leaves and scattered trash tumbling down the street, scraping against the edge of the sidewalk. 

It was nearly midnight by the time Hank pulled the car up to the curb, Connor already scanning the dark streets through the window, drops of light, drizzling rain decorating the glass. 

Connor wouldn’t feel the cold the same way Hank would, the Lieutenant already hunched over and shivering even with the heat blasting, but the low temperatures were far from comfortable. 

“This is bullshit,” Hank muttered, and Connor couldn’t say he’d expected anything else. “Couldn’t they have us do this during the day?” 

Connor briefly fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket, the same one he’d worn back when he’d infiltrated Jericho. When he’d abandoned his mission and accepted what he was. 

He’d told Hank he didn’t need the warm clothing, that his usual blazer and tie would be just fine, but the Lieutenant had practically insisted.

“It’s best to act as soon as possible,” he supplied, unbuckling his seatbelt. “And it’s unlikely the androids were taken in broad daylight.”

“You never know.” Hank’s hand reached for the door, pausing when he saw Connor moving to do the same “Stay close to me when we get there. Got it?” 

“Yes, Lieutenant.” 

Connor pushed open the door and stepped into the night air, not even given a chance to close it before Hank was unceremoniously tossing something over from the other side of the car. 

“Put that on.” 

Connor eyed the Lieutenant curiously, not quite understanding, glancing down at the dark beanie in his hands. “I don’t need it. I told you, the cold doesn’t--” 

“Yeah, I  _ know  _ the cold doesn’t do shit to you,” Hank snapped. “But I need you to cover that thing up.” 

At Connor’s frown, Hank rolled his eyes, jabbing a finger towards the android’s LED, and he saw it flash yellow against the metal of the car door. 

“Why?” 

_ “Why?”  _ He echoed. “What part of this case don’t you understand?” 

“I understand it perfectly.” Fifteen androids had gone missing in the past three months. With the revolution less than a year in the past, and the negotiations for rights still causing tension on both sides, android related incidents had become, unfortunately, almost normal. 

But with so many androids disappearing without a trace in such a short amount of time, things had been even more tense than usual, the androids at Jericho at a loss, and it hadn’t taken long for Hank and Connor to be put on the case. 

All of the androids had gone missing in the same general area, a run-down neighborhood on the far side of Detroit, but with no leads or witnesses, for over two months there had been no place to start. 

Now, however, they had a witness. The first victim that had managed to escape the man that had tried to grab her the night before. 

The android, Melissa, had been beaten and bloody, barely on her feet when she’d stumbled into the precinct, wide eyed and shivering, begging for help. 

She’d managed to fight off her would be kidnapper before fleeing, and was able to give their sketch artist a decent description, enough for Connor to scan the face and find a man from the same neighborhood by the name of Zachary Jefferson. 

But fifteen androids were still missing, and Connor doubted it was the work of just one man. With how little they still knew, he could understand Hank’s concern, but covering up his LED wouldn’t do them any good. It was an investigation, and human or not, he was still a detective. 

He did his best to explain, ignoring the Lieutenant’s scowl. “My life isn’t in danger any more than it would be on another case.” 

“Yeah, well the goal is to get the guy to cooperate,” Hank said. “Letting him know there’s an android at his door will just fuck everything up.” 

Between the abnormal case and long days bleeding into endless nights, Hank’s usual sour mood had only worsened, and he tended to take out his reasonable frustration on whoever was closest. Which, almost always, happened to be Connor. 

He’d grown used to it. He’d had to. The two of them had hardly gotten off to a good start when they’d first met, especially with Hank’s initial opinion of androids. 

Things had gotten significantly better, but maybe the pressure of the last few weeks was starting to catch up to both of them, Connor finding himself deflating at Hank’s words, an odd pang in his chest.

“Oh.” And then the pang turned to a squeeze, and Connor was suddenly determined to look anywhere but Hank. “Then maybe next time you should ask a human to accompany you. Since it’s more convenient.” 

“Jesus, Connor.” 

Connor slammed the car door shut, surprising himself with the force of it, rounding the car and stalking to the sidewalk. 

Despite himself, he pulled on the beanie, making sure it covered his temple, only for the sake of avoiding any more pointless arguments. 

He shouldn’t have to cover up what he was, shouldn’t have to hide anymore, but his reaction had been unnecessary. Achingly human, Hank would probably call it once things settled down. 

“What’s the apartment number?” Hank asked, eyeing the identical, faded wood doors. They weren’t going to acknowledge it, then. They’d let the tension build up over the next few days until one of them- probably Connor- inevitably gave in and apologized. 

Or maybe they’d both silently agree to let the incident fade from memory and never speak of it again. Both were possible, and both, Connor had enough experience to know, were unhealthy. But tonight, he had no desire to try and make amends. 

Wordlessly, he pointed to the corner apartment, the small doorway littered with low hanging spider webs, clouds of dust spiraling into the air as they stepped forward. 

“Shit,” Hank scoffed, swatting at one of the cobwebs. “And I thought  _ my _ place was a dump.” 

Connor didn’t reply, only raised a fist and knocked twice, stepping back and waiting with bated breath for a response. 

It couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds, the hollow knocks still fading into the quiet air, when everything turned to a blinding white. 

It was like there was something clawing at his brain, screeching in his ears, far away voices he couldn’t quite hear, errors too distorted to read obscuring his blurred vision. It felt like his head was being crushed, the jumbled voices growing louder, words still impossible to decipher. 

“Connor!” 

Hank’s voice was like a jagged knife, and Connor couldn’t help but flinch, squeezing his eyes shut against the lights swarming in front of him. He could feel hands on his back and shoulders, Hank’s alarm lost to the ringing in his ears. 

He couldn’t hear his voice anymore, all of his energy and focus diverted to his breathing, to gain back any sort of control and fight against whatever was happening to him. 

_ “Connor!”  _

And just like that, it was over, filtering away into nothingness, the quieting voices fading. Connor’s eyes snapped open, the error messages gone, meeting nothing but Hank’s gaze, eyes brimming with blatant worry. 

“I’m ok,” he assured, voice too small to be of any comfort. “I’m ok, Hank.” 

It was a painful reminder to the Stratford tower, when he’d been connected to Simon when he’d died, shaken and scared despite no physical damage being done. 

And Hank not believing Connor was ok for one minute. 

“Jesus, kid,” he muttered. “Can you stand?” 

He hadn’t even realized he was on the ground, but apparently at some point he’d fallen to his knees, too preoccupied with the pressure in his head to notice. 

He nodded, not bothering to shrug away Hank’s hand on his shoulder as he pulled himself to his feet, immediately glancing to the still closed apartment door. 

“No response?” Connor asked, and Hank was once again staring at him like he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. 

“No.” He paused, brow furrowing and hands outstretched like he was waiting for Connor to fall again. “Kid, if you need to wait in the car--” 

“I’m fine,” he said, already moving aside to let Hank approach the door. And it was true. It was like nothing had ever happened. “Just an error.” 

“Just an error, huh? You sure about that?” 

“I’m fine,” he said again, voice harsher than he’d intended. “Like I said, if my problems are an inconvenience to you--”

_ “Jesus.”  _ Hank was already pulling out his gun, rearing back and slamming a boot into the apartment door with enough force to wake the entire neighborhood. It hit the inside of the wall, bits of the ceiling falling from their place and scattering around the entryway. “The fuck’s your problem today?” 

Connor didn’t answer, not sure he could if he wanted to, and Hank at least had the decency to drop it, raising his gun and stepping inside. 

The apartment was small and cramped, a cluttered living room and kitchen pressed together, opening into a small hallway revealing two doors, both open, one leading to the bedroom, the other to the bathroom. 

The place was, as Hank had said, a dump, even more than the Lieutenant’s home had been before Connor had taken up residence on his couch. 

The coffee table, covered with dust and grime, was littered with opened takeout containers, food spilling out onto the wood, stains already prominent against the filthy carpet. 

The paint on the walls was peeling, and Connor could see piles of dirty clothes scattered across the bedroom floor. He couldn’t imagine anyone living in a place like this, but a quick scan told him the abandoned food had been sitting out less than a day. 

“Nobody’s home,” Hank announced, trudging back from the bedroom, wrinkling his nose as he briefly glanced into the bathroom. “We sure this is our guy?” 

“Jefferson’s DNA is all over the food. We have the right place.” 

Hank sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning in a slow circle like he expected Zachary to be hidden in the shadows somewhere. 

But the apartment was silent, no shuffling or breathing aside from the two detectives, the rooms vacant and lifeless. 

“Alright, well-” he tucked his gun away, Connor following him back to the front door. “-I can ask a couple of the neighbors if they’ve seen him. Why don’t you check around the back?” 

They stepped back into the open air, Connor not missing the way Hank swore under his breath at the miserable weather. There had been no snowfall, but the sidewalk around the buildings were caked in mud, thick enough to leave faint tracks if someone went around the back. 

He nodded, rounding the corner as Hank went to knock on the neighboring doors, his current mood probably enough to get any information he needed in record time. 

The sooner this case was solved, the sooner things could begin to settle down. They were both on edge, and neither were particularly good at handling their emotions. A situation like this, months of being helpless to do anything while innocent androids were likely killed, and they were bound to take their frustrations out on each other. 

But, pacing the sidewalk, all his scans came back negative, the mud dry and untouched, no sign of their suspect. 

He could hear the Lieutenant’s voice drifting into the air, shouting for a person who refused to open their door, and Connor began to wonder if they should have waited until Hank had gotten a full night’s sleep. 

Eventually, one of the neighbors must have relented, Hank’s voice softening slightly, tone shifting to stern and authoritative, and Connor let himself tune out the questions. 

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, running possible scenarios and trying to figure out what they were supposed to do next if they didn’t find another lead, that he hadn’t heard the car pulling up on the curb beside him until the window rolled down and a voice called out. 

“Excuse me!” 

The man was calling him from behind the wheel, leaned towards the open window, an arm slung over the passenger’s seat, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. 

Connor didn’t even have a chance to scan the man’s face, barely given time to realize there was a second man stepping onto the curb from the back seat before something jammed into his side, and the world tilted sideways. 

The touch was cold, slamming into his ribs, static flooding his systems and clouding his mind. He lost control, like all of his systems suddenly went offline, a piercing ring swarming through his head. 

It wasn’t like what had happened before. There were no voices, no pulling at his mind, just panic and clawing agony. 

Connor felt himself hit the ground, the cement hard and unforgiving, the impact already sending thirium dripping from his temple and into his hair. 

There were hands on him, grabbing at his jacket and pulling at his arms, the two men struggling to lift him from the sidewalk, and Connor’s eyes widened when something in his mind cleared. 

“Hank!” It wasn’t loud enough to be considered a scream, the fall having knocked the wind out of him, but it had to be enough. _ “Hank!”  _

He was finally pulled from the ground, hands squeezing his arms to keep him upright, his legs refusing to support his weight as he was dragged towards the car. 

“Hank! I need--” 

A hand against his throat cut off any more frantic calls, shoving him ruthlessly through the open back door of the car, throwing him against the seat. 

“Connor?” 

But Hank had heard him, Connor fighting to sit back up, just able to make out the Lieutenant rounding the corner as the car door was slammed shut. 

“Connor!” The window was smeared, but Connor could see Hank running towards the street, already reaching for his gun, eyes wide with panic. 

His systems were still weak, head still heavy with static, but Connor managed to sit up and lean against the side of the car, the door refusing to budge no matter how hard he pulled at the handle. 

He slammed a hand against the window, meeting Hank’s eyes just as the older man pulled out his weapon. 

There was a gunshot, but it wasn’t Connor’s kidnappers who collapsed. The noise was muffled, but he heard Hank cry out, the strangled sound like a knife to his racing heart, watching in horror as the Lieutenant crashed to the ground. 

He wasn’t even able to determine if Hank was still moving before the passenger door opened, one of the men leaning over to press the taser once more into Connor’s stomach.

It was somehow worse than the first time, the static and flood of errors overwhelming, and Connor couldn’t help but gasp, sinking into the car seat, falling under the veil of static as everything faded. 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help myself and started another DBH story because these characters are fantastic.   
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
